"You were never made to feel like a second-class citizen if you weren't on Warner Brothers, and there was none of the 'You gotta get out of here because such-and-so is coming in' crap," he says. Meanwhile, Keith Brammer, bassist for Milwaukee hardcore and alt-rock torchbearers Die Kreuzen, recalls Smart as a place that didn't cop a 'tude, no matter what. Isaac Schulze, singer/guitarist for local cowpunk trio Mad Trucker Gone Mad, says being able to barbecue a turkey on Smart's deck and play videogames at the studios made him feel at home - and perhaps led to a better record. "In fact, it's a miracle that Smart stayed open as long as it did considering it was run by two guys with almost no business sense."įor Vig and Marker, treating other musicians like family, whether they were from Sun Prairie or Sunset Boulevard, was the key to their happiness and success. "We were never in this to make money," he says. It seemed like the right time to throw in the towel. Plus, the labels that normally would pay for studio time have slashed their budgets to half or a third of their usual size, Vig says. "Now anyone can get a laptop and make recordings in their basement for next to nothing. "You can look at the closing of Smart as a direct reflection of what's been happening in the music business and the technology changes that have happened over the last 10 years," says Vig.
#Smarts studios professional
Ironically, inexpensive recording technology is now driving musicians away from professional studios and back into their basements. We tried to help as many local bands and labels as we could."Įarly on, helping the local music scene meant recording punk bands on the eight-track for five bucks an hour, when Milwaukee and Chicago studios told Vig and Marker to charge 20 times more. "Two-thirds of our client list was local and regional bands, and Steve and Mike and I are probably even prouder of those projects than the Pumpkins and Sparklehorse and Freedy Johnston.
"We rocked Smart for 25 years, and we rocked Madison, too," he says. "I've always looked at it as a sanctuary."Īlthough the studio is closing, Vig says there's cause for celebration. "We started Smart because we wanted a place to hang out and make music, like a clubhouse," Vig explains. It was a step up from recording on a four-track in Marker's basement, which they'd been doing since their student days at UW-Madison. Smart Studios got started on the south side of East Wash in 1983, when Butch Vig and Steve Marker moved their gear into a dusty old factory space. The studio just announced that it will close its doors this spring amid a dramatic downturn in the music industry. Over the years, Smart was a rock 'n' roll refuge for more than 1,000 bands who recorded there. It has been for more than 25 years, even when it was just two guys, an eight-track tape recorder and a tiny collection of microphones.
It seems ripe for a haunting, not a historic happening.īut that building, the legendary Smart Studios, is one of the liveliest places in town. There are no signs, few parked cars and a handful of boarded-up windows. When you're barreling down East Washington Avenue, it's easy to speed past the brick building on the northwest corner of Baldwin Street.
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